life in my life

I could tell you how many hours I've spent at school or preparing for it this week.

I could tell you how many students I've worked with individually after school and before school.

I could tell you about every relationship with a student that I've tried to cultivate this week.

But I want neither applause nor pity.

I could tell you how my sophomores nearly staged a coup this week when I didn't give them enough support for a writing assignment,

but I'd rather tell you about how the tide turned and we found a better space.

I could tell you how I nearly cried in Whole Foods Monday when I smelled the produce and realized there was no time for cooking,

but I'd rather tell you how my kind roommate washed my sheets for me and my coworkers buoyed me up with kind words.

Sometimes, for a day or two, I'd like to trade in my life for one that is slower, one in which I might bake more bread and write more poetry. Yet there is a hard-won polishing that comes from pushing the self to give more. I've never worked this hard. Never have I spilled myself out so wholly as I do now.